


Kaleidoscopic Perceptions

by XILVerify



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Awkward Crush, Awkward Flirting, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Slice of Life, and Canada being Done with them both, this is nothing but pure silly sweetness y'all, with a side of America and Australia being 5 year olds to each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25240576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XILVerify/pseuds/XILVerify
Summary: Alfred Kirkland always suspected that taking an elective fine arts course for a whole semester would be tantamount to torture. Turns out, he was right. Well… sorta. USPH.(Originally posted February 24, 2013)
Relationships: America & Australia (Hetalia), America & Canada (Hetalia), America (Hetalia)/Original Female Character(s), Australia & Canada (Hetalia), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Kaleidoscopic Perceptions

Alfred stared with dismay at the paint-smeared piece of paper in front of him, and resisted the increasingly tantalizing urge to pound the easel, the painting, his brush, and the palette into a crater on the floor and run, not walk, out of this stupid class permanently. Why oh _why_ had he stooped to making that stupid bet with Kyle? Why? Matthew had warned him, but the chance to get one-up on their brash Australian cousin-turned-roommate was just too much to resist. So of course, he’d ended up losing, and luckily for him the penalty for the loser was that the winner chose an electives course for them in the next semester of college, and they had to go to every class _and_ pass. Kyle (the sadistic bastard) had chosen an electives art course for Alfred to suffer through, knowing full well that the extent of his older cousin’s artistic abilities was limited to stick figures and finger paintings.

Alfred angrily dunked his brush in the glob of dark green paint on his palette and slathered it viciously on his paper. The mere thought of thirteen more weeks of this torture made his mind go numb. This was definitely _not_ how he wanted to start out his second year of college. Now he was stuck in a class full of snooty-slash-weird artistic types who mostly regarded him as one would regard an exotic animal in a zoo: foreign, unpredictable, and possibly violent if provoked. They’d all given him a wide berth this first day, breaking off into little clusters of chattering students and leaving him to alone with a bust of Mozart and a bowl of fake fruit for company (well, okay, the Feliciano guy _had_ said hello, but he was dragged off by his scowling, older brother before he could say much else). Alright, so he didn’t exactly fit in with the crowd around here, what with his American football jersey, ripped jeans, backwards Yankee’s baseball cap, and skateboard propped against the back wall underneath his Transformers backpack, but come on, he wasn’t _that_ much of a weirdo, was he?

As he rinsed off his brush and dried it (HA! He remembered to dry it this time! See, he could be taught!) before shoving the bristles into a splat of fuchsia paint, he consoled himself with the fact that he at least had basketball practice after this. That should make him feel a bit better. He just had to be sure to not get paint all over himself, or the guys would never let him hear the end of it-

“Mr. Kirkland?”

Alfred started violently, fumbled his paintbrush, and nearly dropped it, splattering paint all over the floor as an undignified squeak emerged from his throat. He whipped his head around to see Mr. Vargas’ assistant at his elbow, a short, short-haired young lady who had introduced herself as Rita de los Santos, a freshman. She was leading the class proper today, since the official art teacher - said Mr. Vargas - was sound asleep in his desk chair, completely dead to the world.

“ _Warn_ me before you do that next time, okay?” he snapped, holding his hand over his racing heart.

“My apologies,” she replied contritely, pushing a stray lock of hair out of her face, making light glint off the silver flower barrette holding it back. “I was just making the rounds to see how everyone was coming along.”

“Just peachy, thanks for asking” he said, which was a whopper. He had absolutely no idea what he was doing. And by the way Rita’s mouth was twitching as she surveyed the rainbow vomit on his paper, she obviously knew it, too.

“So I see,” she said neutrally, evidently trying to maintain some professional decorum. “Well, it’s certainly… very unique.”

“You can be honest,” Alfred sighed, shoulders deflating. “I suck. I know it, you know it.” He gave his easel a rueful kick and plunked his paintbrush in the plastic cup filled with muddy-colored water.

“Mr. Kirkland, it’s only the first day of class,” Rita protested, laying a hand on his arm. “And there were no guidelines for this assignment anyway. Its purpose was to ascertain your level of skill and style preference. There was no right or wrong way to do it.”

“Yeah, well, even so.” Alfred sighed again, wiping a smear of red paint off his cheek with his other arm. “Looks like it’s gonna be a _long_ thirteen weeks. I appreciate you trying to cheer me up, though, Ms. Rita. Though, please, call me Alfred. ‘Mr. Kirkland’ is what people call my dad. Makes me feel old, y’know?”

Rita laughed lightly. She had a nice laugh, Alfred noted. “Only if you call me Rita. Deal?” She held out her hand, and Alfred stared at it before glancing at his own, smeared with a rainbow of colors. When he saw she still had her hand held out, however, he grinned and shook hers firmly.

“Deal.”

“Great.” She withdrew her paint-smudged hand and beamed brightly at him. “Now, see if you can finish up that painting of yours. I need to-” A loud burst of swearing in a language Alfred didn’t recognize erupted at the front of the class, and Rita winced, rolling her eyes. “Go take care of that before Elizaveta causes an international incident, it seems.”

“Good luck with that,” Alfred grinned, taking up his brush again as she walked away. Well, that had certainly been a nice pick-me-up, he reflected, sticking his brush into a glob of sky blue paint. This Rita de los Santos wasn’t half bad. It didn’t hurt that she was kinda cute, too… He then abruptly noticed the runny, watery blue paint dripping down his paper from the brush. “DAMMIT!”

* * *

_“So, how was finger painting today, Alfie?”_

_“YOU-!”_

_“Tsk, such a sore loser. Just because we established I’m the undisputed champion of barbecue is no reason to turn homicidal. And killing me isn’t going to get you out of this, you know.”_

_“It’ll still make me feel better! Now stop jumping around and **hold still**!”_

_“Both of you, keep it down! I’m **trying** to study here- Kyle Leonard Cook, you get off of the kitchen table **right now** , mister! Alfred Franklin Kirkland, the stool is **not** a bludgeoning weapon! Don’t make me come in there, you two!”_

* * *

Things got a bit better once the class moved from painting and drawing to sculpting and carving after a few weeks. Alfred actually enjoyed getting to play around with the clay (he’d always liked PlayDough, though Matthew would never let him forget the time he made a sandwich out of the stuff and tried to eat it), though his actual sculptures left a great deal to be desired. Then the class was given bars of soap and plastic knives to carve them with. Now, _that_ had been fun. Granted, he had gotten yelled at for leaving soap shavings all over the floor and in a kid’s can of soda (it was an accident, really!), but it had all been totally worth it. He’d actually gotten a pretty decent-looking rocket ship out of the soap, too.

However, now that they had moved on to linocuts, Alfred was quite sure he was going to accidentally end up slicing an important artery and bleed out before someone could call the hospital. He regarded the sharp gouge tool he’d been given with a critical eye, then back at the piece of linoleum mounted on a wooden block with a photograph he’d taken with the class camera of a drinking fountain pasted over the top. He’d thought it was funny at the time, now he was just annoyed. From what he could gather from Mr. Vargas’ thickly accented explanation, he was supposed to carve a picture into the linoleum so it could be painted with ink and made into a large stamp. Yeah, his hands were done for.

Five minutes in, he was proven right. “Fudge-!” he hissed, jerking his hand away and inspecting the latest cut in his growing collection. “Geez, at this rate, they won’t need _ink_ to make a print.”

“Band-aid?” A box was placed on the table in front of him, and he looked up to see Rita smiling sympathetically at him. “I brought extra; I know how annoying linocuts can be. To be honest, I don’t like them much myself.”

"Thanks,” he replied, grateful for a respite from the self-inflicted mutilation of his hands. As he reached for the box of band-aids, he noticed Rita had seated herself in the chair opposite him. “Not that I’m not grateful for the company, but shouldn’t you be working on your own picture?” he asked curiously. She waved him away.

“I finished already,” she told him. At his disbelieving look, she added, “Linocuts are nothing new to me. Most, if not all the subjects we’ll be cover this semester are, in fact. That’s why Mr. Vargas chose me to be his assistant. I came here on a fine arts scholarship. This course is just a beginner’s introduction to the subject; next semester begins the _real_ complicated stuff.” She looked excited at the thought, and then chuckled, seeing his grimace. “But something tells me you aren’t looking forward to it.”

“Not really,” he replied with a rueful grin. “No offense. But I only signed up for one semester of this, so thankfully, I dodged the bullet this time.”

“Why did you sign up, then?” she asked curiously, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand. “You haven’t looked like you’ve enjoyed yourself these past few weeks. Well, except for the clay. And the soap.” She’d actually been paying attention to what he was doing? Alfred was surprised, yet oddly pleased.

“I… uh…” he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck with his newly-bandaged hand. “I lost a bet with my cousin. The loser had to take whatever course the winner picked for a whole semester. Needless to say, here I am.” Rita grinned, looking like she wanted to start laughing.

“What would you have picked if you had won?” she asked. Alfred grinned back devilishly.

“Ballet.” This time, she did laugh.

“Sounds like you two get along well,” she remarked, still giggling.

“Actually, yeah, we do. He’s like a third brother to me. You know, when he’s not being annoying,” he added wryly, picking up his gouge to have another go at the linoleum.

“You have a brother?”

“Yeah, my younger twin brother, Matthew. OW!” he snapped, sticking his freshly bleeding finger in his mouth.

“How interesting! I’ve never met anyone who’s a twin before. Does he go here, too? Like your cousin?” Rita inquired, handing him the box of band-aids again.

“Yup. He got in on a hockey scholarship, Kyle got in on a rugby scholarship, and I got in on a basketball scholarship, since they weren’t giving out football scholarships at the time I applied.”

“I play basketball, too!” she exclaimed, beaming. “You’d have to be good to get a scholarship for it, though. What position do you play?”

“Uh… shooting guard, normally,” Alfred replied, blinking in surprise. Who knew that they’d have _this_ in common, of all things? “You?”

“Small forward,” Rita replied. “I love it, but I’m not professional material, I’m afraid. Are you planning to go professional yourself?”

“Nah,” Alfred laughed. “It’s fun, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t think I’d like to do it full time. My bachelor’s actually in aerospace engineering.” At her blank look, he added, “I wanna work at NASA. It’s been a dream of mine since I was a kid. Even if I can’t be an astronaut, I could still fly planes for them or something, and… Sorry, this is probably really boring to you, huh?”

“No, no, I like it when people talk about their dreams. It brings out the best in them, I think,” she assured him. “Me… well, I just want to get a well-paying job so my mother doesn’t have to work herself to the bone so much back in Manila just to make ends meet and help keep me in school. There are a lot of things you can do with a degree in fine arts, though, so I have a lot of options.” Her voice had gone quieter as she spoke of her mother, and her face took on a gentle look.

“What made you decide to go to school in America, though?” Alfred asked after a moment, turning his attention back to the linoleum. “I mean, if I’m not prying too much. My dad says I have a problem with keeping my nose out of other people’s business.”

“Not at all,” she smiled. “It’s nice to just sit and chat with someone every now and again. But to answer your question, they were offering a good scholarship, and I’d always wanted to travel, see other countries. What about you?”

“Same as you; they had a good scholarship that I thought I could get. Well, that, and Dad’s been after me and Matt to come here ever since we started high school, basically. This is where he went to college; he was an exchange student from England, and he met my mom here, so he decided to stay. Gotta follow in their footsteps, and all that. But if Mom had her way, we’d be studying in Paris right now, so I count my blessings where I can get them.” He shuddered theatrically, only narrowly missing slicing his finger again.

“Your father’s British?” Rita sounded surprised. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“I'll take that as a complement.”

“What about your mother?”

“She’s French-Canadian, though she’d moved to the US when she was a teenager. Lets’ just say me and my bro have gotten a lot of culture growing up,” Alfred said wryly.

“I can imagine,” Rita replied.

“Band-aid, please!” came a call from across the room. Rita immediately got out of her chair and snatched up the box, though she hesitated before reaching inside and pulling out a few more, laying them on the table beside Alfred.  
  
“Just in case.” She winked at him. “It was fun talking to you, though. Best of luck with your linocut.”

“Thanks. And thanks for putting up with me,” Alfred said in response, saluting with two bandaged fingers. She smiled again and left. He stared after her retreating back for a moment, before scowling back down at the gashed, bloodstained piece of linoleum in front of him. “This is punishment for my misdeeds in a previous life, isn’t it?”

* * *

  
  
_“Hey, mate, some of the guys on my rugby team are throwing a surprise birthday party for our coach tonight, and I thought you’d like to… Crikey, what happened to your hands? You look like you got in a fight with a knife rack!”_

_“The guy who developed the art curriculum for this school was a freaking sadist, and no one can convince me otherwise. Now, what’s this about a party?”_

_“… You know what, I’m not even going to ask.”_

* * *

  
  
Alfred felt immensely relieved once the class moved on from carving (seriously, his poor hands really could not take much more of this), and was pleasantly surprised when the subject for the next couple of weeks was music and music history. Not that he was any expert on the subject, by any means, but at least he had previous experience with it, at least.

When Mr. Vargas asked for people who played instruments to bring them to class the next day for a demonstration to kick off the new unit, it took all of Alfred’s willpower to resist pumping his fists in the air and doing a happy dance atop the nearest table. _Finally,_ something he could do in this dumb class that he didn’t suck at! After class was dismissed, he immediately signed his name on a sheet of paper beside the teacher’s desk, noting that he was fifth in line.

He was the first one to class the next day, sitting in his usual place near the back of the room. A black case rested at his feet, a CD safe in its case in his pocket. He fidgeted impatiently, nervously, as the other students started to trickle in. He noticed Rita arrive, pulling out a book of sheet music out of her back before seating herself beside one of her friends. So she was going to play something, too? By the lack of instrument case in her hands, it was probably going to be the large, grand piano sitting in the corner, which was normally covered with art supplies.

She caught him looking and gave him a quick, polite smile before leaning over and whispering something to her friend. Alfred glanced away quickly, face turning pink despite himself. God, why had she chosen to drop by the gym yesterday, of all days, to watch the basketball practice? He’d been so shocked to see her standing there, watching the play intently, that he’d completely missed the ball someone decided to toss him just then, and it had hit him square on the forehead. He still had a conspicuous bruise there, though it was partially hidden by his bangs and Giants baseball cap.

Ugh. Alfred slouched down in his seat. Why did he have to always make himself look like an idiot when girls were watching? Yes, he _had_ invited her to come watch him practice whenever she wanted a couple times when they had gotten an occasional chance to chat casually, but he didn’t think she’d take him up on it; he’d peeked at her itinerary once as she was leaving class, and the number of courses she was taking made his head spin. She couldn’t have had a spare moment in her day. Freshmen did tend to bite off more than they could chew, but still… she’d actually taken time out of her hectic schedule to come see him play. And then he’d screwed it up by making a beginner’s mistake. Smooth, Kirkland. Real smooth.

He was still mentally punching himself when Mr. Vargas called for the first student to come up and perform. The Austrian kid, Roderich, Alfred believed his name was, got up and proceeded to play a classical violin solo. Another guy with hair so blond it looked white played a flute solo, with an orchestral accompaniment on a CD playing on the large stereo on a table by Mr. Vargas’ desk. Rita then stepped up to the piano and proceeded to play a gentle, stirring melody that got a lot of applause when she finished. Another girl played a jaunty tune on her marimba that had the whole class clapping along. Then Alfred’s name was called.

Even though he was prepared for this, butterflies still filled his stomach as he made his way to the front of the class, his trusty saxophone held tightly in one hand, the CD with his musical accompaniment in the other. Trying to ignore the odd looks he was getting from some of the other students, he plopped the disk in the turntable and readied himself. As the first strains of Gerry Raferty’s “Baker Street” filled the air, Alfred closed his eyes and lost himself in the music.

When the song ended, silence filled the room for a moment. Alfred tentatively opened his eyes to find the entire class staring at him before Feliciano enthusiastically started clapping, soon joined by the other students. Alfred grinned, pleased yet a little embarrassed, retrieved his CD, and retreated to his seat, warmed by the approving glances of his classmates and one assistant teacher in particular. He made sure to seek her out after class and compliment her on her playing. He then went and complimented the others who had played, just to keep things in balance.

* * *

_"What are you smiling like that for? Should I be concerned?”_

_“You know, music really **is** the universal language. Isn’t that right, Mattie?”_

_  
  
“I’m not getting involved here. You two better settle your differences this time **without** resorting to violence, or so help me, I am taking my hockey stick to the both of you. Don’t think I won’t.” _

_  
  
“I didn’t even do anything here! What is **wrong** with you two?”_

_“Besides the obvious?”_

_“You think you’re just hilarious, don’t you?”_

_"I don't think, I know!"_

_"You're right, you don't think."_

_"... I set myself up for that one, didn't I?"_

_"Kinda."_

* * *

  
  
Alfred never thought he’d think this, but he was actually kind of disappointed that winter break was almost upon them. His stunt with his saxophone solo had broken the ice with his classmates, and they made more of an effort to include him now. Not to mention that he’d miss talking with Rita. He wouldn’t have many opportunities to do so once the new semester started, given their radically different schedules. She’d made his time here a little more bearable in the beginning, and as he’d gotten to know her better, he’d come to genuinely look forward to her company.

“-Isn’t that right, Mr. Kirkland?” Alfred jolted back to reality to find Mr. Vargas staring down at him sternly.

“Ummm… yes?” he squeaked, figuring he had a 50% chance of getting it right.

“Excellent. Then you’ll be the first to choose your Secret Santa for this year’s final class.” Mr. Vargas presented a black bag before the bewildered blonde with a flourish.

“Bwah?” was Alfred’s articulate response.

“Pick a name out of the bag, idiot,” Lovino muttered from beside him. Alfred did so, and the teacher moved on.

“What was I supposed to do, again?” Alfred muttered to his classmate. Lovino rolled his eyes.

“Tch, you’re supposed to make a picture of the person whose name you get on your piece of paper.” Lovino waved his own under Alfred’s nose until the other batted it away. “You can paint it, draw it, sculpt it, scribble it, doesn’t matter. As long as you can say it’s the other person, you’re, how do you say it? Peachy.”

“Ah.” Out of curiosity, Alfred unfolded his piece of paper and felt his heart drop to his battered converses. On the slip of paper, written in Mr. Vargas’ curling, elegant script, was the name “Rita de los Santos.”

* * *

_“Look who finally decided to show up! Pizza?”_

_“Thanksdon’tbothermegottathinkbye!”_

_“…”_

_“…”_

_“Um… you’re welcome?”_

* * *

Alfred paced in his bedroom, both hands pulling at his hair frantically as he let out the pent-up nervous energy accumulating in him throughout the day. Of all the names he had to get! Him, a guy with almost zero artistic talent, making a Secret Santa portrait of someone majoring in the fine arts! All he was going to do was humiliate himself in front of her _again_ while everyone else laughed, and-

No. He stopped pacing, bright blue eyes narrowing as he stared at an indiscriminate point on the wall. No, he had to stop psyching himself out. So what if he wasn’t the most talented artist ever? Surely there could be _something_ he could do for someone whose friendship he valued (because he certainly did _not_ have a crush or anything, not at all)! But what?

His eyes lit on a stack of sports magazines in one corner, and an idea began to take root in his mind. He would need glue. Lots of glue. And paper. More magazines. Scissors. A photo of Rita that he could probably find on the school’s website (that wasn’t stalkerish, was it? He hoped not). But first, more pizza. A guy needed his strength after all. Thank goodness for Papa John's.

* * *

_“Hey, mate, you’ve been in there for hours! Whatcha doi-?”_

_“OUT!”_

_“Jeezus, man! That was about three centimeters from my nose! What the heck are you doing in there?”_

_“Uh… homework! And sorry about that; I kinda panicked.”_

_“’Kinda’ is an understatement. And homework. Right. What kind of ‘homework,’ exactly?”_

_“None of your business!”_

_“…You’re not doing anything dirty, are you?”_

_“Wha-? NO! Seriously, can’t a guy work privately around here without being accused of being a pervert? It’s a work-in-progress, okay?”_

_“Fine, fine. Yeah, Matt, start the movie. Mr. Neanderthal’s holed up in his cave at the moment, and won't be coming out until the next millennium."_

* * *

Alfred was a bundle of nervous energy come last art class. He had Rita’s gift secure in a manila envelope, but he couldn’t seem to find the right to give it to her, as the rest of the class mingled and handed out their own Secret Santa portraits. A girl with glasses and a red bow in her pale brown hair trotted up to him and handed Alfred a piece of poster board with a can of Coca Cola cut out and pasted to the front. A pair of square-rimmed glasses had been twisted out of brown pipe cleaners and glued to the paper can, while a piece of yellow construction paper had been carefully cut to look like the flyaway part of his bangs glued to the top of the can.

Alfred stared at the picture for a minute before glancing up at the smug-looking girl. Come to think of it, she did look familiar.,. Oh. Oh, right, he had gotten soap shavings in her can of soda during that carving class. He felt a wry grin tug at his lips. “Never gonna let me live that down, are you? But thanks, I guess.”

“Never,” she smirked, tweaking the brim of his baseball cap before walking off toward the refreshment table, tossing a _“Je t'en prie”_ over her shoulder on the way. Alfred watched her go, chuckling, before he caught sight of his Secret Santa chatting with one of her friends by the piano, her backpack already slung over her shoulder. He took a deep breath and started to make his way over. Class ended in five minutes. It was now or never.

“Excuse me, ladies,” he interrupted gallantly. “I’m sorry to bother you both, but,” he addressed Rita’s friend, “could I speak with Rita for a minute?” The girl’s eye flicked down to the envelope under his arm, grinned conspiratorially, and graciously bowed out of the conversation, leaving the two alone.

“What can I do for you, Alfred?” Rita asked warmly, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear and smiling that brilliant white smile of hers. “Oh, is that your Secret Santa portrait?” She motioned toward the Al-can.

“What? Oh, yeah.” He whipped it out and held it by his face, giving his goofiest grin. “The resemblance is uncanny, don’t you think?” She burst into giggles at the silliness of it all.

“It looks just like you,” she choked out, still giggling. “What about that, though?” she pointed at the envelope with her portrait in it.

The short speech Alfred had prepared suddenly decided to pack its bags and abandon ship, and all he could do was thrust the envelope toward her with an agitated, “Here, this is for you.”

“You’re my Secret Santa, then?” Rita set her glass of punch on the piano and took the envelope eagerly.

As she started to open it, Alfred found himself babbling, “Yeah, I know, crazy, huh? I mean, not that it’s crazy that I made something for you, because I was happy to, but because, you know, who’da thunk that I’d get your name and everything?” Sweet, merciful heavens, it was like his mouth had a mind of its own. Abort, Kirkland, abo- Oh God, she was pulling out the picture! “And anyway,” he hurried on, tossing what remained of his decorum to the four winds, “I know it’s not the greatest picture or anything, I took some artistic license with it, too, but I really tried my best, and I really hope you like it!” Rita was staring at the portrait of herself, compiled out of bits of colored magazine paper painstakingly pasted to the white piece of cardboard. The words “Thank you,” were printed in Alfred’s best handwriting at the top of the picture.

“I just wanted to say thanks, you know, for helping me out with the class these past few months and being willing to hang out occasionally and all.” Great, he was still yammering like a moron. “I really enjoyed getting to know you, even if the class wasn’t always that awesome. Through no fault of your own, might I add, because _you’re_ awesome, I just-”

Rita abruptly leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, having the approximate effect of a bolt of lightning shorting out his brain. “Thank you. I really do love it, Alfred.” Alfred’s cheeks felt warm enough to roast marshmallows, and Rita’s cheeks had a distinct pink tinge as well. The bell suddenly rang, signifying the end of class. “Well, I better get going,” she said, clearly flustered, carefully sliding the picture back into the envelope.

“Hey… Rita?” Alfred queried hesitantly, finally finding his tongue. She glanced up at him, cheeks still flushed pink. “When school starts up again… you think we could get together for a little game of basketball? You know, one on one, just for fun?” He held his breath, hoping.

“I think I’d like that,” she replied, smiling. “First Thursday after the second semester starts, in the third gym? I have some free time then.”

“Sounds great!” Alfred responded, beaming, feeling lighter than air. She gave him one last smile before disappearing into the crowd of students streaming out the door.

* * *

_“Kyle! Buddy!”_

_“Alfred! Put me down and stop waltzing around the room like a moron! What’s going on? And what’s with that loopy grin?”_

_“I just wanted to say that I’ve never been so happy to have lost a bet before. You’re officially my new favorite cousin!”_

_“…Are you high?”_

_"Yes. I am high. On **life**!”_

_“O-kay, that maniacal chuckling is actually really disturbing.”_

_“Oh, what a beautiful mor-ning, oh, what a beautiful day~!”_

_“You know what, I give up trying to figure you out. I’ll be in the kitchen when or if you come back to your senses, okay?”_

_“Kay~!”_

* * *

_**Notes** :_

_-[Pic reference](https://www.deviantart.com/x-i-l2048/art/APH-OC-Philippines-Revamped-Prelim-Design-380257531) for my Philippines OC, Rita de los Santos, in case anyone was interested. _

_\- In my head-canon, America… does not have a great deal of actual artistic talent when it comes to painting/drawing.etc. His skills lie more in building and carving, though he appreciates good art all the same. Philippines, on the other hand, is quite talented at most art, particularly at weaving, jewelry-making, and pottery. They both love to dance, though, and can play multiple musical instruments._

_\- Rita’s primary instrument is the piano, like in the fic, but she can also play the kutiyapi, guitar, and palendag.[Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YgjbOlmwRxI) is the song she played in the fic, a Filipino love song called “Bakit Ngayon Ka Lang.” _

_\- Alfred also plays the guitar (he has a particular fondness for the electric guitar), as well as the trumpet, drum set, and, as in the fic, the alto saxophone.[This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LPfx40ikmQI) is what I imagine his solo sounded like in the fic. I’ve always loved the epic sax solo in “Baker Street,” and I think Alfred would, too (in fact, it’s what got him interested in learning the instrument in this AU). _

_- **Je t'en prie** = You’re welcome in French. That was Monaco, by the way. ;) And Mr. Vargas is Rome._

_\- Just in case it wasn’t obvious enough in the fic, Alfred, Matthew, and Kyle (my head-canon name for Australia) room together. Australia doesn’t get near enough love with the NA bros, so this is my little attempt to help remedy this. ^w^_


End file.
